


Tonight (Let's Pretend)

by milestofu



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 12:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3208994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milestofu/pseuds/milestofu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip to buy matching outfits with Ray before a heist leads to Ryan realizing he's found something he didn't know he wanted or needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight (Let's Pretend)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [calmwithinthestorm](http://calmwithinthestorm.tumblr.com/) during the 2014 Ragehappy Secret Santa event.
> 
> Super late crossposting to AO3 is a go.

"That mask is fucking creepy, man."

Ryan, who's currently sifting through a rack full of shirts, pauses in his motions and looks to Ray. Underneath his mask, his lips curl upward into a grin.

He asks, "What's wrong with it?"

"You're wearing a raccoon mask," Ray says. "Do you not see the problem with this?"

"And?"

"The poor clerk is scared shitless."

Ryan humors him and shoots the clerk―a young woman in her early twenties with short, choppily cut brown hair and grey-blue eyes―a sidelong glance. Suddenly, she seems very, _very_ interested in tending to the cash register despite having no other customers besides them.

Ah, the joys of youth.

Ryan shrugs and says, dismissively, "She'll be fine."

Shaking his head, Ray wants to ask him why he's wearing an exceptionally creepy ass raccoon mask instead of the normally creepy skull mask. He's certain he knows the response he'd get (a contrived, smart-alecky one with Ryan's name written all over it in bold, blocky letters), so he doesn't. Instead, he focuses his attention on browsing through the various racks of clothes. Before long, he pulls a pair of multi-colored camouflage pants with far too many pockets from one of the racks.

He holds it up for Ryan to see and asks, "What about these?"

"Rainbow?"

"Dude, gay pride, right?" Ray says, and then adds, "No one will expect it."

Ryan chuckles. "I guess not. Do they have 'em in 38s?"

"Uh, let me check," Ray says and after some searching, pulls another pair from a nearby rack. With an almost triumphant look on his face, he says, "Got you covered."

Before Ryan has the chance to reply, the earpiece nestled in his ear crackles to life and Geoff's voice sounds loudly and startles him. He'd almost forgotten about it. Well, there wasn't any "almost" about it.

"Yeah, I can hear you, shit, hold on," Ryan says and makes his way out of the store without another word. As soon as he steps foot outside, the cold, crisp air hits him like a freight train. He ignores it and asks, "What is it, Geoff?"

"Are you two almost done sucking each other's dicks?" Geoff asks. "Because Gavin is fucking late."

Rolling his eyes, Ryan leans against the brick wall of the clothing store and retrieves a pack of smokes and a lighter from his back pocket. He swore up and down that he'd give up smoking a few months back, but it continues to be his clutch. It's something that anchors him down to Earth and numbs his frayed nerves

"Yeah, we're about to checkout," Ryan lies smoothly after he's lit a cigarette and pulled his raccoon mask up just enough to uncover his mouth. He and Ray are nowhere near ready to checkout; they haven't even put an outfit together yet, but he decides what Geoff doesn't know won't hurt him. "Why's Gavin late?"

"No idea. Dickhead won't answer his phone but keeps sending me texts saying he'll be there in no time," Geoff says and sighs. "The rendezvous point hasn't changed. You two going to be there by 5?"

Ryan flicks his cigarette. "Yeah. And Jack?"

"Jack's all set, and so is Michael," Geoff says and without warning, there's the sound of a loud commotion in the background and Geoff's swearing up a storm. "Gavin just got here and practically took out the entire porch," he says, sounding annoyed. "Hey, asshole! If you so much as get a scratch on my fucking car―"

Ryan turns off the earpiece because he doesn't feel like listening to Geoff and Gavin bicker. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and then exhales, gray smoke billowing outward. He drops the cigarette after, grinding it down into the sidewalk and slides his mask back down. He leans off the wall and turns, re-entering the store.

He's momentarily confused to find Ray nowhere to be seen, and if it wasn't for the curses coming from the direction of the changing room, Ryan would've thought Ray ditched him. He pays the clerk staring at him from behind the cash register no mind, makes his way to the back of the store, and raps his knuckle against the wood of the changing room door.

"Need some help in there, buddy?" Ryan asks.

"What? No," Ray replies too quickly to have listened. He frowns at Ryan chuckling from the other side of the door and he fumbles with the button on the jeans he's trying on before heaving a defeated, frustrated sigh. "I don't fucking know what size fits."

Ryan's eyebrows rise, his curiosity piqued. "Your pant size?"

"No, my fucking bra size," Ray deadpans.  " _Yes_ , my pant size."

Ryan gets the impression that Ray's left out a few choice expletives and the grin from earlier returns. He shifts his weight onto one leg and crosses his arms over his chest.

"How do you not know your pant size?" Ryan asks although he already knows the answer.

He distinctly remembers the first time he met Ray, and if it weren't for the facial hair on Ray's face, he would've thought Ray was still in high school. Ray's young―almost too young to be in this line of work―and not knowing something like his pant size doesn't come as a surprise to Ryan. Not necessarily, anyway.

What does come as a surprise to Ryan is how well Ray knows to use a sniper rifle (it might as well be an extra limb with how Ray utilizes and uses it).

Eventually, Ray says, "I haven't been shopping in a while.

It's a half-baked lie and Ryan hums, and then repeats, "Need some help?"

Ray's not oblivious, nor is he naive, and he takes notice of the underlying suggestive tone in Ryan's voice. He doesn't say anything at first and but before long, he moves and unlocks the door and when he opens it, their eyes meet―well, Ray's eyes meet with the soulless, black eyes of Ryan's raccoon mask.

Fucking shit. Ray starts cursing immediately, muttering something about how he forgot about the "god damn raccoon mask." Ryan takes some amusement in his reaction and he wedges himself into the cramped changing room that Ray currently occupies. There's barely enough room to breathe between the two of them after closing the door and he's suddenly very thankful that he isn't claustrophobic.

Ray, who's facing the shoddy mirror that hangs on the wall, doesn't appear to have thought this through because his discomfort is almost palpable. Ryan gives Ray a quick onceover through the mirror and it's obvious that the multi-colored camouflage jeans that Ray's tried on don't fit him in the slightest. They bunch around his knees and hug too tightly to his hips.

"What size are those?" Ryan asks, pretending not to notice how tight they hug in other places as well. He'll be cordial, because despite what he's paid to do and takes far too much enjoyment in, he likes to think of himself as a gentleman.

Ray fingers the belt loops of the too tight jeans. "I think they're 24s."

"Let me check the tag," Ryan says and he reaches forward. Ray tenses visibly and Ryan tries to keep himself from smiling (he isn't at all successful). He brushes his fingers against Ray's lower back as he frees the little white tag with black print on it. "Ah, they're 22s. Did you mean to grab 24s?"

"Yeah, I guess," Ray replies.

Ryan lets go of the tag, however he doesn't move his hand away. He places it on the curve of Ray's hip and Ray inhales sharply. Oh, how warm his body is, Ryan praises him in his thoughts and presses his body flat against Ray's back (Ray would insist later that _no_ , he definitely _did not_ shudder).

Resting his chin on Ray's shoulder, he traces the waistband of the jeans Ray's wearing. "You can tell they're too small," he says, his fingers barely able to slip beneath the fabric and against warm skin, "by doing this."

The action triggers something inside Ray, and he turns around to face Ryan, not caring about how his shoulder bumps hard into Ryan's chest. "Dude," he says, "we are not doing this when you're wearing that fucking mask."

He's distantly glad that he didn't misread Ryan's intentions, but god damn, this wasn't going to be a thing that happens if Ryan's wearing that fucking mask. Ryan, surprised by how adamant he sounds, barks a laugh, shakes his head, and then pulls the mask off. A strange sense of being exposed envelopes him, but he shoves it to the back of his mind. It wasn't worthwhile, and it didn't matter.

Ray's expression morphs into one of confusion.

"What?" Ryan asks.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Face paint?" Ray sounds disbelieving. "Really?"

Realization dawns on Ryan, and he can't help but to grin. "What's wrong with face paint?" he asks and leans in, his mouth next to Ray's ear. "Afraid of a little paint, BrownMan?"        

Ray _doesn't_ groan. Nope.

Ryan moves closer and he presses his chapped lips to the corner of Ray's mouth in a chaste kiss. Ray exhales, not realizing he'd been holding his breath (it would explain why his lungs have started to burn).

Wasting no time, Ryan captures Ray's lips completely with his own. Everything about Ryan is so overbearing, and Ray can hardly think straight. _Get your act together, Narvaez,_ Ray thinks halfheartedly and his hands find purchase on Ryan's hips.

Ryan pulls away, breaking the kiss and takes in the sight before him. He never thought Ray was someone who would allow something like this is get to him. Not that he was complaining, however, because a flustered Ray is truly a remarkable sight.  His normal calm and collected demeanor where his emotions lay carefully hidden under a mask of indifference―not unlike the actual masks Ryan chooses to wear―is nowhere to be found.

He stands in front of Ryan, his lips wet, his cheeks flushed a dark shade of red, and he's everything but calm, collected, or indifferent. His emotions don't quite lay bare for all to see, but they're exposed enough to ignite a fire in Ryan's chest. A fire that leads Ryan to realize he's grown attached to Ray.

His grin falters.

"What?" Ray asks, and when Ryan says nothing, he grabs a fistful of Ryan's leather jacket and jerks him forward. "Are you kidding me right now? You kiss me and now you're going to get tightlipped?"

Judging by how Ryan's eyes widen, he's caught off guard. Even with the face paint, it's apparent that Ryan's out of practice with keeping his emotions from showing on his face. He manages to collect himself quickly, his lips drawing into a thin line.

"It's not that," Ryan says and there's something so off about his expression that it makes Ray loosen his grip on his jacket ever so slightly. "Look, it doesn't matter, alright? Geoff's waiting―"

"Fuck Geoff," Ray interrupts him. "He can wait for the rest of his life for all I care."

Ryan stares at him, bewildered.

"Listen, either you tell me whatever the fuck your problem is," Ray says, "or I'm leaving. I'm not going to let you use me like I'm some fucking one night stand you picked up on the street corner."

Ryan lapses into silence, and just as Ray's about to say fuck it and leave, he speaks again, saying, "This could be our last time together."

Ray mirrors his look of bewilderment.

"Dude, what? Slow your fucking horses, man," Ray says. "We haven't even had a first time together."

Ryan's expression changes and he lets out a breathy laugh and he realizes this is it. This is how Ray's managed to worm his way underneath his skin and into places declared off-limits. Something about Ray reminds him of things he'd much rather forget, but at the same time, Ray's something that he needs. Something that he didn't know he wanted.

There's a passage of silence before Ray speaking again, saying, "Dude―"

Ryan kisses the words from his mouth, and Ray's half-tempted to sock him upside the jaw. He refrains, however, and chooses to return the kiss―although he does it with far more teeth than necessary, but he returns it nonetheless.

Ryan pushes against him, and Ray's back collides hard against the wall. Ray bites down particularly hard on Ryan's bottom lip, and his mouth fills with the sharp, metallic taste of blood. Ryan deserves it, really, for being such a prick. Unfortunately, Ryan doesn't seem bothered by the new cut on his lip or the sting that comes along with it.

He reaches forward, sliding one hand along the front of Ray's stomach and to his jeans. He snickers at the slightest of muffin tops Ray has because of how tight the jeans are because really, they don't fit in any definition of the word. It's comical that Ray even tried them on.

Ray smacks his chest in response, having let go of his leather jacket. Ryan just smiles against his lips and palms Ray's half-hard dick through the thin fabric of his jeans. Ray inhales sharply and his hips pivot forward slightly.

Ryan moves his mouth from Ray's lips to his jaw, trailing kisses along the way and is unbothered by the stubble that scratches his lips. He drags his teeth along the curve of Ray's jaw to his ear.

"Feel how tight these are?" he asks. "I can feel how hard you are, and I'm barely touching you."

Ray groans loudly and Ryan tells him to quiet down―that people will hear him. Ray complies, if only because he doesn't want Ryan to stop. Ryan holds Ray's dick through his jeans, squeezing ever so slightly, and judging by the reaction it elicits from Ray, it's been a while since anyone's touched him like this.

Feeling something akin to possessiveness, Ryan unbuttons Ray's jeans and wastes no time finding the zipper and unzipping it. Ray's saying something, the words barely leaving his lips, but Ryan isn't listening. He doesn't want to listen, anyway.

He's too wrapped up in the sound of his heartbeat thudding in his ears because just like Ray, it's been a while since Ryan's let someone touch him the way Ray's holding onto him―desperate, but with too much pride to be described as needy.

With Ryan's breath hot against his neck, Ray raises his hands from Ryan's hips to Ryan's broad shoulders. It's then that he becomes acutely aware of their difference in stature and it sends a shiver up his spine and Jesus Christ, he is so, _so_ fucked.

Suddenly, Ryan's teeth biting down onto his neck pull him from his thoughts. He swears and Ryan takes this opportunity to free Ray's cock from his boxers and take him fully into his hand. His dick is hard and heavy, and it twitches in the warmth of Ryan's calloused hand.

If there's one thing Ryan's proud of, it's the fact he's the one that has broken through Ray's indifference. He's _damn_ proud of it, too. Ray hisses between his teeth when Ryan squeezes the base of his dick.

"Quiet," Ryan says and presses his thumb to the slit of the head of Ray's cock. It's already leaking the slightest bit of pre-come and Ryan exhales, a guttural sound escaping from the back of his throat.

"H-Hypocrite," Ray says and Ryan's hand is in his hair suddenly, forcing his head back and exposing his throat. "Fuck, Ryan―"

"Quiet," Ryan says again, his voice deeper, thicker sounding somehow. Ray listens this time, barely able to keep himself silent. "Good boy."

The words go straight to Ray's cock and it twitches again in Ryan's hand. He brings his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down hard, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to keep his voice down when Ryan starts to pump him slowly, rhythmically.

Ryan hums in satisfaction and his own dick strains against the confines of his jeans. Distantly, he knows they're running short on time and quickens his motions. He whispers filthy words of admiration to Ray and tells him that he'll fuck him until he can't move the next day and until his throat is raw and he's unable to speak.

Ray isn't able to silence himself this time and a long, drawn out moan escapes him. His entire body feels like it's on fire as and he wants nothing more than for Ryan to do as he's saying. He wants Ryan to fill him, to use him, to fuck him.

Ryan watches him, his pupils blown wide from arousal and he's unnerved a little about how much he wants this―how much he _needs_ this. However, as he watches Ray shudder and tremble, he doesn't care about that. He doesn't care about anything but this.

He'll deal with the repercussions of the feelings that have swelled in the core of his being later because right now, he's going to revel in this. He's going to revel in the breathlessness of Ray's voice, the warmth of his body, and he's going to revel in everything that Ray encompasses because nothing else matters.

Nothing else matters right now except for Ray.

Ray cries out his name then, and his fingernails dig crescents into Ryan's shoulders as he comes. Ryan imprints the image of Ray in front of him to memory and he slows his strokes, easing him through his orgasm with a surprising amount of tenderness that some would never thought he'd be capable of.

It isn't long before Ray starts to come down from his high, his legs starting to wobble and his knees starting to knock together. It takes a little while longer for his breathing to level out.

"H-Hey, Ryan," he says eventually.

Finally, Ryan moves, letting go of Ray's softening dick and releasing his hand from Ray's hair. Ray's glasses are ever so slightly askew on his nose and he looks so god damn satiated and satisfied that it makes Ryan's cock throb. He shifts uncomfortably. It's a shame they don't have more time.

"Ryan," Ray says again and pats Ryan's cheek.

Ryan meets his gaze. "...Yeah?"

"I think the clerk heard us," Ray says and wow, that wasn't what Ryan was expecting him to say. Ray must be able to see it on his face because he asks, "What? You didn't hear her run away from the door?"

Ryan laughs and shakes his head. "No. I can't say I did."

Rolling his eyes, Ray moves slightly before looking to Ryan, and when Ryan just stares back at him, he says, "Uh, I need to change back into my pants."

"Huh? Oh! Oh," Ryan says and Ray snickers, amused because he hasn't seen Ryan so flustered and so... off kilter. It's something he wouldn't mind getting used to. "I'll wait outside."

Ray just snickers again and a short while later, he follows Ryan's lead, but he stops to hang the pair of multi-colored camouflage jeans on the nearest clothing rack. He pretends not to notice how frazzled the clerk looks and as they exit the store empty handed, he feels a little bad.

He isn't able to pretend not to notice Geoff's anger and frustration at him and Ryan for arriving―in Ray's words―"fashionably late." He also isn't able to pretend not to notice Michael elbowing him in the ribs because fuck, that shit hurts. He scowls at Michael, and Michael just grins at him a knowing, shit-eating grin.

He's able to pretend not to notice that, though.


End file.
